“Sweet on the Tongue”

Read a New Story from Roxane Gay's Collection, Ayiti

My grandmother, eighty-seven, has changed the name of the nurse’s aide who tends to her. She didn’t like the woman’s real name, said it tasted strange in her mouth. She calls the aide Maria so now we all call the nurse’s aide Maria, too. Maria tells me this story when I meet her while visiting my grandmother, who lives with my aunt, next door to another aunt and down the street from more aunts and a few uncles. When we meet, I tell her I already know everything there is to know about her.Information travels at alarming speed through the intricate gossip network of our family. She says, “I could say thesame.”Thewayshelooksatmemakesmeuncomfortable.Shelooksatmethewayamanmight.

I’m visiting because my grandmother told my mother she didn’t want to die without seeing her youngestgranddaughteronelasttime.Shemakessuch pronouncements with regularity. She has been dying for nearly twenty years but no one lives forever.

Maria has a big ass. My grandmother tells Maria thisregularly.Shehasreachedthatagewhereshelacks tact.Despitemygrandmother’sconcernaboutthesize of Maria’s ass and her unwillingness to call Maria by hergivenname,theygetalongquitewell.Mariatreats mygrandmotherlikeherown.Shebrushesmygrandmother’s thin, silver hair each night before bed. They love to argue about the shows they watch. They talk about the islands where they were born, the warmth of suns they onceknew.

On the first night, my grandmother falls asleep watching the evening news. News of war exhausts her. Maria and I smoke in the small backyard,leaning against a brick wall. My grandmother was not incorrectinherevaluationofMaria’sassbutMariaisattractive, not much older than me, dark brown skin, white teeth, soft sweet-smelling skin.

I ask for her real name and she waves a hand limply. “Just call me Maria.”

Her accent is familiar. The evening is cold, a cold to which our island skin is not accustomed; it hurts tobreathetoodeeply.WhenMariaexhales,Iinhale.

“Do you like this kind of work?” I ask.

Maria shrugs, ashes her cigarette. I can no longer seetheedgesofherface.Shestepscloser,leansinuntil I can feel her breasts against mine. “Do you like your kind ofwork?”

My cheeks warm.

We fall into a routine over the next several days. When Maria is ready to smoke, she taps my shoulder, lets her fingers rest too long, and I follow heroutside. Sheasksaboutmylife.Icanseemyfamily’sfingerson her questions. I am vague in myreplies.

OnFriday,Mariagathersherthingswhilethenight nurse, a far less congenial woman, settles in front of the television next to my aunt who is half asleep, her lower lip hanging wetly. Maria nods toward the front doorandIfollow.Onthestoopshesays,“I cook,” and Isay,“Ieat.”Shepressesatightlyfoldedpieceofpaper into the palm of myhand.

Maria’s address is written in block letters and numbers, even her sixes and nines. When I arrive,my fingertips are numb. Maria has changed from scrubs into a denim skirt and a red silk camisole. I stand awkwardly in the hallway, my hands tucked into my armpits.

“You don’t have to feed me. This isn’t part of your job.”

Mariacocksherhead.ShewalksawayandIfollow dumbly. The apartment is small but clean.Thewalls are heavy with pictures, many ofthemblack-and-white.Wewalkdownalonghallwaytothekitchen, wheretheairisthickandhot.Myporesopenhungrily. “Can I do anything to help?” Maria archesaneyebrowbutshakesherhead.Shepointstoanemptychair and I sit, shrugging out of my jacket.

I do not visit my family often. Already I am exhausted—so many of them, so demanding, pulling meintomeatyembracesandage-old,pettysquabbles. I live in Los Angeles in a large loft apartment with a man,Campbell,whoworksagreatdeal.Heisanagent. He takes care of a select group of clients, all of them stupidly famous. He makes them a stupid amount of money, so he makes a stupid amount of money. We are married and our marriage is complicated but good,betterthangood.Whenheproposedhesaidhe understood me. He said all he would ever ask of me is to love him. I do. I don’t do anything in the way of compensatedworkeventhoughIhaveseveraldegrees thatmakemylifestyleseemridiculousatbest.Five days a week, I volunteer at a clinic where the people think me far better than I am. Sometimes, Campbell comes home late and I hand him a gin and tonic. We talk about his day. I ask him if he wants a break, if he wants me to help him shoulder the burden of our life together. He squeezes my shoulder and kisses me and takes a long sip of his drink and kisses me again. He says he wants to take care of me.

*

I met Campbell in the emergency room. He was harried,typingfuriouslyonhisphonewhilestandingnext tooneofhisclients,atabloidbadboyactorwholayon hisside,moaningsoftly.Whentheactorrolledontohis back, I could see the large bump on his forehead, and nexttoit,adeeplaceration.Hereekedofbooze.Ithad beenalongshift,fullofcrazy.ThelastthingIwanted to deal with was a drunken actor. You’ve treated one, you’ve treated them all. I snapped on a pair of gloves and began examining my patient. He made a lewd comment and I slapped his wrist. Three nurses hovered,titteringnervously.Ilookedup,glaring,butthey couldn’t help themselves. I finally had to tell them I didn’tneedtheirhelpandclosedthecurtain.Campbell lookedup.Hehadgrayeyes.Ithought,I’veneverseen ablackmanwithgrayeyesbefore,butthenheopened hismouth.

“Look,Doc,”hesaid.“Ifpossible,I’dlikeyoutojust patch him up, get some fluids in him, and we’ll be on our way. No records, nocharts.”

Myeyesnarrowed.“Doc?That’snothowhospitals work.”

Campbell came around to my side of the bed. He was very tall. He looked down. I held his gaze. He squeezedmyarm.“Justplayball,sister.Youknowhow it works in this town.”

Hours later, I was at the nurses’ station, paperwork, always so much paperwork. I was tired and ready to go home, ready to change out of my scrubs, readyforalong,hotshower.Ifeltataponmyshoulder. I looked up, and saw Campbell staring at me. I stood, ready with sharp words.

Campbell leaned against the desk, crossing his ankles. “So,” he said. “What will it take to see you out of scrubs?”

I didn’t look up. “Nothing you could possibly offer.”

Heexhaledloudly,andstartedwalkingawaybuthe muttered something under his breath. It wasn’t nice.

“I heard that,” I shouted after him.

Weeks later, Iwasonanovernightshift,twointhe morning, quiet, sitting in the residents’ lounge. I had forgottenaboutthebadboyactorandhisagent.Istudied the container of yogurt in my hand, long expired. I ateitanyway,knowingtheworstofwhatcouldhappen. CampbellenteredandIlookedup,spooninmymouth.

“You can’t be in here,” I said, after I swallowed.

“If Ican’tsee you out of scrubs, Iwill console myself by seeing you in scrubs.”

I tried not to appear flustered. “Your client has long been released. I can’t imagine what more I can do for you.”

Campbell handed me his card. “You can go out with me.”

I held the card up to the light. “Is this supposed to be an incentive?” I tossed the card back toward his chest and he caught it, laughing.

“What is with you?”

“I am a humorless resident who works ninety hours a week.”

“What do you do during the other seventy-eight hours of the week?”

“I sleep, alone.”

Campbellnodded,rubbinghischin,thensatdown on the couch, crossing his long legs. “This presents a challenge. If you work ninety hours a week and sleep for the other seventy-eight, that doesn’t leave room for much.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure what you want. Am Isupposed to throw myself at younow?”

He patted the empty space next to him. “That would be a start.”

I moved to a chair on the other side of the room. “Let’ssayIwentoutwithyou.You’dwineanddineme, maybe take me to a fancy movie premiere, introduce metoshinypeopleinmagazines.We’dsleeptogether. I’dbedeeplyunsatisfied. We mightgoatitafewtimes more, and then you’d grow bored because I have a brain.We’dberightbackwherewestarted.Let’sdon’t and say wedid.”

“Why do men always assume women are angry when they are honest? I’m not angry.”

He stood. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.” He disappeared.

His visits became so frequent they grew into a source of amusement in the ER. My coworkers took bets on how long it would take for me to agree to go out with Campbell. I called him a stalker. He told me Iwasadorable.Isaidhewasacondescendingasshole. Heagreed,genially.Amonthpassed.Fortwodays,he didn’tshowup.Ispentmyentireshiftsnappingatthe nurses,unabletosoothethelineoffrustrationrunning through me. The next day, when Campbell did show up, I gave him a colder shoulder thanusual.

He took the X-ray from me. “The nurses tell me you’ve been very short-tempered since we last saw each other.”

“Onlyamanwithyourarrogancecouldthinkthat had anything to do withyou.”

His smile widened. “So it’s true.”

I grabbed my X-ray back, and accidentally cut myself on the edge. I winced, jumping around as I sucked on the cut.

“Let me see that, you big baby,” Campbell said.

I extended my arm, reluctantly. He held my wrist gently, twisting it from side to side to study myfinger. He disappeared for a moment and when he returned, he had a Band-Aid, which he applied. He kissed my fingertipandsaid,“Iwasoutoftownonbusiness,film festival, Utah.”

As I studied his handiwork, he said, “You should see me for a follow-up. Dinner. Away from here.”

I nodded absently. “Sure.”

He pumped his fist over his head and I realized what I had just done. The chief resident won thepool at forty-seven days.

On our first date, we sat in a bistro in downtown LA. I studied Campbell’s hairline, graying in that terriblyappealingwaymenenjoy.Heisolderthanmeby a decade, was married and divorced by the time we met.Hestartedtalkingabouthismarriage.Ileaned across the table and pressed two fingers against his lips. “Let’s not do that. Let’s not sit here and tell each other everything there is to know about who we once loved. I am tired of listening to men talk about their regrets.”

“Good,”Isaid.Ileanedinandbithislowerlipthen let myself into my house. I had not realized we were holding hands.

On our second date Campbell told me he had someone he wanted me to meet. We pulled up toThe PalmandthevaletgreetedCampbellbyname,said his usual table was ready. As Campbell held the door for me, he brushed his hand against the small of my back. We were escorted to a table at the center of the room—a room filled with the thin, beautiful people who typically populate Los Angeles. Some were more recognizable than others. Many of the women shared the same face. At our table, a gorgeous woman was already seated. As I sank into my chair, I recognized her as a movie star having a very good year or at least that’swhatPeopletoldme.Duringlullsinthehospital, I often sat in the waiting room reading themagazines abandonedthere.ItwastheonlywayIknewanything about anything. She extended a long, willowyarm.

“Your hands are ridiculously soft,” I said.

She grinned. “The blood of virgins is the best moisturizer.”

I pretended to make a note on the tablecloth. “I will keep that in mind.”

Campbell cleared his throat. “Therese, this is Melinda, a dear friend and client. Melinda, Therese. A new friend but not a client.”

We nodded and I buried my head in the menu, a large, leather affair. Campbell looked at me over the top of his menu. “Everything is good here.”

“If I ate meat, I’m sure it would be.”

He looked so uncomfortable, I almost felt sorry for him.

“Dear God. You’re a vegetarian.”

“Ifyouhadbeenpayingattention,youmightknow that.”

His voice lowered. “I am paying attention.”

Suddenly his phone rang. He raised a finger in the air, and stepped away from the table to answer the call.

Melinda set her menu down. “He wasn’t kidding. You are different.”

“Some say.”

“You know he invited me here to impress you.”

I nodded.

“Is it working?”

“Not even a little.”

A waiter delivered a bottle of chilled champagne tothetable.Afterhepoured,MelindaandIraisedour glasses and smiled.

*

Maria says everyone is so proud to have a doctor in the family as she sets a plate in front of me—chicken insauce,riceandpeas.Idon’ttellherI’mavegetarian.

We are silent as we eat. The meat is salty andtender, breaking apart against my teeth. When we finish, I take the plates to the sink, washthem.

“I volunteer instead of working at a practice or hospital,” I say.

Maria laughs. “A doctor is a doctor is a doctor.”

We take a bottle of Merlot into the living room. Themorewinewedrink,themoreheraccentthickens. Mine does, too.

“Why did you become a doctor?” she asks.

When you’re willing to give over so much of your life to a single, impossible pursuit, the questions are inevitable. I tell Maria the truth.

We sit so close our thighs touch. I am dizzy, my mouth empty but full.

“Your grandmother says you haven’t been home since . . .”

I shake my head. “Don’t.”

Maria sighs. “It must have been horrible.”

Itwistmyweddingringsbackandforthandthink about my husband, how when we’re sitting together, hedoesn’tforcemetotalk.IworryIamtooquiet for him. He says I speak when I need. I speak whenitmatters.

“Your family wishes you would talk,” Maria says.

I pour myself another glass of wine, drink it quickly, and refill my glass again. “I’m sure they talk enough without me. Is this why you asked me here?”

Maria shakes her head, her lips turning down slightly, but I am not convinced.

“I do not mean to upset you. I just wanted you to know I know.”

I laugh coarsely, and tip my wineglass towardher. “What do you think you know?”

*

Home is an island in the Caribbean. Some call it a jewel. Everyone who leaves the place calls it home though few of us actually want to be there, not the wayitisnow.Iusedtoreturnregularly,oftenwithmy mother,holdingherhandastheplanedescendedfrom thecloudssofastitfeltlikewewouldfallintotheblue salt of the water. A narrow curve of land would suddenlyappear,andtheplanewouldreachfortheground as everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hesurprisedmebysayinghis vowsinmymothertongue,hismouthtryingsohardto make those words right. Though I swore I wouldn’t, I cried,andsmiledsohardmyfaceachedfordays.”

My father never left the island. He says it is too much to ask a man to leave the only home he has ever known. My parents see each other when they want. They are still married though my father also has a young girlfriend, Roseline, with whom he has twoyoungboyswhocallmymotherandtheirmother mama.Somehow,itworks.Mymotherhasaboyfriend too,butheisageappropriate.Myfatherownsasmall architecturefirm,doesreasonablywellforhimself.As a father, he does reasonably well by his children. We areclose.

*

Maria opens another bottle of wine.

“Why did you leave your island?” I ask. People who leave islands always bring a complex mythology.

She smiles. “Why does anyone leave such places?”

Her manner is infuriating. I look at the clock on the cable box, the green numbers blinking steadily. “I should go.”

Maria touches my thigh. “You should stay.”

*

My husband and I married beneath a gauzy canopy on the beach in my country. He wore a tan linen suit with a pink tie. His face was flushed, sweat trembling along his hairline as he tried to adjust to the island heat. The bride wore white, a long, sleeveless dress.

Myfeetwerebare,muchtomymother’schagrin.The air was thick with salt and the sand burned beneath our feet. We held hands and stared at each other as weexchangedourvows.Hesurprisedmebysayinghis vowsinmymothertongue,hismouthtryingsohardto make those words right. Though I swore I wouldn’t, I cried,andsmiledsohardmyfaceachedfordays.That night,IwouldcarefullymassageCaladrylintotheskin of his face and whisper sweetly to him. Melinda sat in the front row with her costar from the movie she wasfilming.Thicklymuscledmenindarksuitsquietly patrolledthebeachtokeepthepaparazziaway.Atthe reception, his family sat quietly at our table until my fatherpulledhismotherontothedancefloor,andsoon allofhisrelationsweredrinkingrumandwavingtheir hands in the air as they rocked their hips.

“I can’t believe he won you over.” She leaned into me, bumping me with her shoulder.

“He’s quite bearable once he stops being Mr. Hollywood.”

Melinda sighed. “How did you manage that?” She wavedtiredlytowardthereception.“Ikeepdatingmen who can never turn thatoff.”

I took a long drag. “I made it quite clear from the start that I wasn’t remotely interested in where he couldtakemeorwhoheknows.Oncethatwassettled, he was very easy to love.”

She began to move damp sand into a small pile. Whenshewasdone,shepulledherkneestoherchest, restinghercheekagainstherlegs.“Don’tleteachother go,” shesaid.

Wehoneymoonedonaprivateislandoffthecoast. Therewerenotelevisions,fewtourists,lotsoftimefor stretching our bodies in the sun and getting browner and drinking too much and eating too much. I told him if I found his cell phone, which is one of his vital organs, I would jump up and down on it. He believed me. I’m small but I have big feet. He made me a small boat out of palm fronds and a pointed hat I wore to dinner. We sucked on sugarcane until the insides of our mouths shriveled. I buried him in the hot sand and teased him by lying atop the mound of his body, flicking my tongue against his ear.

Fabien, one of the boys who worked at the resort, took a fancy to me. Campbell pretended to be jealousasFabienfollowedmearound.Whenmyhusband looked away, Fabien flirted aggressively, leaning into mewithhisshoulders,dancinghisfingertipsalongmy arm.Heseemedharmless.Hehadbright,shiningeyes. Campbell and I laughed about it when I told him.

One night, Campbell lay across the bed, his lips slick with rum. We wanted to cool our drinks andour skin so I grabbed the ice bucket and walked to the main building. My body hummed with joy. On my way back, Fabien grabbed me by the waist, tried to dancewithme.Icecubesspilledontothewarmpavement. “What are you doing with the American?” he asked. His hand slid down to my ass and hesqueezed, pressing himself against me. His chest was a flat,hard stretch of muscle. I smiled, and twisted away. I tried tolaugh.Isaid,“No,no,no,I’mamarriedwomanbut you are very kind.” He tried to kiss me; his lips were salty and thin. I shrieked and bit his lower lip, hard. Hecursed,scoopingafallenicecubefromtheground and holding it to his bloody lip. I ran back to our cottage,clutchingtheicebuckettomychest.Campbell looked up as I came into the room and slammed the doorbehindme.MyhandsshookasIlockedthedoor and set the ice on the dresser and crawled into bed next to him. He asked what took me so long. I stared up at the ceilingfan.

*

“You’re a beautiful woman,” says Maria.

Herwordsareslowernow.Mymindisslowernow. MyauntmustbewonderingwhereIam.Inthemorning, she will nag me incessantly about where I was, what I was doing.

Maria takes a long sip of wine, her teeth clinking against the glass. “I have a husband back home. I hardly remember his face.” She sighs. “It is lonely here.”

I ignore the tightening in my chest. “It is lonely everywhere.”

Mariakissesagentlelinefrommyforeheadtomy ear.Istandandgotothewindow,smearedwithathin layerofgreaseandfingerprints.Ihavenoideawhat is happening. I don’t understand my role in it. Down on the street, a young couple argues, the man pacing back and forth along the length of a bus bench while thewomansitsonthebackofthebench,herfeettapping against the seat.

Ipresstwofingersagainstthewindowpane.“Isuppose we both think we know each other,” Isay.

There was a popular market at the center of the capital. On our last day, my husband wanted to see this market. He wanted to be among my new people.I rolledmyeyesbutindulgedhim.Thesunwashigh,the air so thick we had to push it out of the way to take a step forward. We walked slowly, sweat beadingalong theedgesofourfaces,ourclothesclingingdamply.My husbandboughtmeaniceflavoredwithgrenadineand oranges.Ithrewbitsoficeathisneck.Whenwecame upon a stall of pirated DVDs, he became absorbed. I grew bored. I pressed my hand into the small of his back and said I was going to keep walking. Every few minutes, I turned back to find him and he waved his arm high above his head, grinning. The last time I turned back, he held a stack of movies in his hand, gave me a thumbs-up.

A new swarm of people started milling between us,theirbodiesmakingthedistanceseemimpossible.I continuedwalking,idlytouchingwovenrugsandboxes of Corn Flakes and Levi’s jeans. I did not see the man who grabbed me, but at the end of the row of stalls I sawFabienstandingsquare,staringrightatme,hislips curled into a small smile. Before I could make a sound, the man covered my mouth with a hand so large, it practically covered the whole of my face. I had no idea what was happening. I did not understand my place in thatmoment.Ikicked,triedtoscratchmywayfree,but there was little I could do. People saw me being taken. Someshooktheirheads,offeredtheirpity.Mostlooked away. I did not see my husband until three dayslater.

*

Wedecidedtohavetheweddingonmyislandbecause a reporter on CNN said the country was safer now, said the beaches were once again full of pale Americantourists,Canadians,too.Thetroubles,thereporter said, would soon be a distant memory. We believed himbecauseIthoughtitwouldbewonderfultomarry themanIlovedonthesoilofthecountryIlovedbefore I learned how to love anything else.

I was returned to my family in the early morning, whentheairwasalmostcoolandtheskywasdarkgray likeCampbell’seyes.Isatinthebackofapickuptruck, holding on to the rusted edge as the broken roads tossed me from side to side. My kidnappers didn’tsay a word as they lifted me out of the truck bed and set meontheground.Withalightshove,theypushedme towardmyfather’shouseanddroveoff,gravelspitting fromtheirtires.IshiveredasIknockedsoftly.Iwaited. Inthedistance,aroostercrowedmournfully.Whenno one answered, I knocked harder, wincing because my knuckles were tender. Finally, my husband answered, hiseyeswidening.Hespreadhisarmsopenashesaid, “OhmyGod.”Iplantedmyhandagainsthischestand pushedhim away. Irefusedtolookinhisfaceandslid past him, locked myself in our room. I leaned against the door as he knocked. He was soon joined by my parents,thethreeofthempoundingtheirfistsagainst thedoor,tryingtobreakitdowntoreachme,pleading for me to let themin.

“Pleasebequiet,”Isaid.“Ineedtothink.Pleaselet methink.”WhenIwasready,Itookadeepbreathand opened the door.

They spoke fast. I couldn’t hold on to their words. “Nothing happened. A group of men grabbed me from the market and took me to a sugar warehouse on the edge of the city. They left me alone.” I looked at Campbell. “When you paid the ransom, they brought me here.”

The captain of the local precinct came to the house immediately. I told him I had no information to help him find my kidnappers. He appeared grateful but spoke of an investigation that would be ongoing, how justice would be served. He drank my father’s coffee and ate sweet cake, his shoulders slumped. Therewas nothing he could do no matter what I told him, no matter what he said. I excused myself as my parents and husband and the captain spoke and made empty statementsaboutthecrueltyoftheworld.Ilocked myself in the bathroom, filled the tub with hot water, andsankintoit,watchingasthewaterturnedpink,the driedbloodonmybodydissolvingslowly.Iclosedmy eyes and sank beneath the surface. The rush of heavy silenceoverwhelmedmeuntilitcomfortedme.When Campbell found me, I was sitting on our bed, drying my hair with atowel.

“You need to see a doctor,” he said, sitting next to me.

I slid away but I didn’t mean to. I said, “I am a doctor.”

Later that afternoon, we were on a charter flight to Manhattan where a friend of mine from medical schoolhadprivilegesatBethIsrael.Theplanewaswell appointed—leatherseats,lacqueredsurfaces,andalcohol I drank, liberally. My skin and muscle and bone hurt. We were silent for a long while. I did not look out thewindow.

Finally, I cleared my throat. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to get an annulment.”

Campbell’s face rearranged into a hard line. “What the hell are you talking about?” He slammed his fist against the wall. “What the hell are you talking about?”

When I was working crazy shifts during my residency, Campbell brought me coffee, hot food, his smile. We went up to the roof and sat on a pair of lawn chairs. We’d hold hands. Many times, hepushed metotheground,pullingmyscrubsdownaroundmy ankles, taking me as I stared into the starry night sky andheldontohimastightlyasIcould.Hewhispered, “Iloveyousomuch”intotheskinofmyneckasIrose to meet him.

On the plane that day, I said, “I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything.” I leaned against him, pressing my forehead against the strength of his arm. I held his wrists so he wouldn’t wrap his arms around me. He whispered into the skin of my neck.

*

Maria and I open yet another bottle of wine. I don’t rememberthelasttimeIdrankthismuch.OrIdo.My body feels loose, like every part of me is fallingaway.

“Mysonisverysmart,”Isay.“Onlythreeyearsold and he knows so much. I saw it in his eyes from the dayhewasbornthathewouldknowlotsofimportant things.” I cross my legs, bouncing my foot. “He has a sweettooth,justlikemygrandmother.Ifyougivehim candy, he will love you all his life. He is perfect.”

Maria nods and smiles. “Why didn’t you bring him?” She is skeptical.

I study the painting on the wall above the television—geometric shapes in metallic colors surrounding a woman carrying a woven basket on her head. “That isn’t possible. Is it hard to be away from your husband?”

Mariaslidesahandbetweenmythighs.Shekisses my shoulder and my neck and my cheek and brushes her lips across mine. “I find ways to keep from being terribly lonely.”

I sit perfectly still.

*

When we arrived at the hospital, my friend Natalya waswaitingattheentrance.Iheldontomyhusband’s armandwalkedslowly.Sheusheredusintoanexamination room. I stood in the corner. Campbell tried to sit down. I looked at Natalya and shook my head.

She smiled, told him he should go to the waiting room.

“I’m not leaving you,” he said.

Iheldontothewalltosteadymyself.“Idon’twant you to see me differently.”

He closed his fingers into tight fists. “That could never happen.” My knees were on the verge of buckling. He reached for me. “You’re shaking,” Campbell said.

I tried to back away. “Don’t touch me.” I was hysterical, barely coherent.

My husband paled. “You’re afraid of me.”

Natalya gently took hold of his elbow and pulled him out of the room. I wanted to call out to him but my throat locked. I was mute.

Later he would tell me he waited just outside the door the entire time. I would have known even if he hadn’t told me.

Natalyareturned.“Aloneatlast,”shesaid.She’sthe amiable sort, the one everyone got along with, even the med students with claws. “You came to the right person. You’re going to get throughthis.”

I half laughed then covered my mouth to catch an ugly sob. My face was wet, my lips salty. Natalya wrapped her arms around me and smoothed my hair over and over. She said, “Shhh.” I allowed myself to fall into her.

Later,aftertheexamination;aftertherevoltingterror of my body revealing the truth of what happened; after needles in my arm taking my blood from me; after large pills I struggled to swallow down my raw, aching throat; after stitches on my face, my chest, in placesIdidnotknowcouldbestitched;aftermywrist, X-rays of which revealed fractures in sharp relief,was splintedandwrappedinacast,Natalyasaid,“Iamnot going to say anything but I’m sorry this happened to youandyoucantalktomeifyouwant,need,anything you need.”

I wanted to tell her, to tell anyone, but the words thickened on my tongue and stayed there, rotting slowly.

*

Maria slides her hand beneath my shirt, pressing the palm of her hand against my navel. Her hand is surprisingly cool. I exhale slowly.She slides her handhigher. Just before she cups my breast, I grab her wrist and push her hand away. “I am happily married,” I say.

Maria nips the fleshy part of my earlobe. “As am I.”

“I didn’t make sense of it at first. I couldn’t keep food down. I assumed my body was trying to recover.”

I didn’t make sense of it at first. I couldn’t keep food down. I assumed my body was trying to recover. Four months after our honeymoon, the last of the bruises finally faded, I was back at work. Campbell made me pancakesonaSaturdaymorningwhileIsatquietlyon the kitchen counter. I asked for one and he handed it to me on the spatula. I grinned as I pulled the warm pancakeapart.Hesmiledback.Ireachedforhimwith myfeetandpulledhimbetweenmylegs.Ifedhimbits of pancake. I let him hold me for the first time since our honeymoon. “Look at you,” Campbell whispered intomyneck.Ikissedhisstubbledchin,hislips,shyly at first and then not so shyly. My mouth and mybody remembered him. He groaned, pulling at my clothes and I let him but then my stomach rolled uncomfortably. I had to push himaway.

I ran to the bathroom and as I heaved into the toilet, I knew and it was the worst kind of knowing. I had taken the pills. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I pounded my fists against the toilet seat.

I looked up and saw how his features brightened, a wide smile stretching across his face. And then his smile became something else. I went to our room and changed. I left. I ignored my phone until the battery died. When it grew dark, I pulled into aWalmart parking lot and made sure my doors were locked. I tried to sleep. I wanted to quiet the screaming in my head.

Inthemorning,thescreamingwaslouder,sharper, more singular. My head throbbed. I walked into the Walmart, bought a test, and went into the bathroom, where it was humid and dirty. I squatted in the last stallandheldthestickbetweenmythighs.Igrittedmy teeth and pissed. I didn’t need to look at the readout to know it would readYes.

*

I find my coat and thank Maria for the dinner. It has been a long, strange evening. She is nervous as she unlocks her front door. “Please don’t tell your family about this.”

Ibrushmyfingersacrossherknuckles.“Idon’ttell my family anything.”

It is much colder outside but I walk slowly. The streets are empty which scares me. In the four years since our honeymoon, I have always been scared. I have felt a spiraling terror lodged in my throat. Ihave tried to cut that terror out.

*

Ifoundmyhusbandsittinginthehallentranceofour loft. He hadn’t shaved. His eyes were wild with anger and something else. He looked up at me and when he spoke his voice was uncomfortably calm. “After what happened, I would think you would be considerate enough to call if you aren’t cominghome.”

I stepped toward him then stopped. “I didn’trealize,” I said. “I didn’tthink.”

“Your pancakes are cold.”

I handed him the pregnancy test. “It could be yours.”

He patted the floor next to him and I slowly lowered myself to the floor. “Tell me what happened. If I know, I can help you. I can try.”

“Do you want to know or do you need to know?”

Campbell cracked his knuckles. “I want. Because it’s what’s best for you.”

Once again, my throat locked. I shook my head.

*

I sit on the cold concrete steps of my aunt’s stoop and call Campbell. I am very drunk.

“Canyoucomeouthere?”Iask,mywordsslurring.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is dry andhoarse.

“I have a son, Campbell.” It feels good to release those words from my chest again.

“Yes, we do.”

“That is the perfect thing to say.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I had too much to drink and a woman hit on me and tried to kiss me. It was weird.”

“And I didn’t get to watch?” His voice is clearer now.

I laugh. “You’re a pig.”

“Are you okay? Did you kiss her back?”

“Yes. A little, no tongue. I really drank a lot.”

“You are so LA now.”

“I miss our son every time I breathe. I miss you.” I can hear Campbell moving now.

“I’m ready to make another baby.”

I close my eyes. The phone grows warmeragainst my cheek.

“Are you there? I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“I’m ready, too,” I say, softly.

*

Thepaternitytestconfirmedmyworstfears.Icouldn’t get rid of it, old country ways, and knew I couldn’t keep it. It was easy to find a family looking for a baby. I started to show so I quit my job at the hospital even thoughIhadjustfinishedmyresidency.Itwouldhave been too much to explain why Campbell and I, who did want children, couldn’t keep this child, to answer questions, to pretend to be joyful, to talk about a lifeI wouldneverknow.Ihidinourloft.Campbellbrought mescreeners.Irealizedmovieshadgottenmuchworse since I started medical school.

When she was in town, Melinda spent hourswith me,tryingtogetmetotalk,regalingmewithstoriesof this or that event, the latest gossip from the set ofher filmandhowthingsweregoingwithhercostar,aman she described as violently committed to dullness. My stomach swelled. The baby was active, always swimmingaround,kickingme,tearingmyheartapart.Early on I told Campbell I would move out until the baby was born. He did not appreciate the gesture, refused. HetriedtoreachmebutIkepthimout.Wewereliving together but we weren’t. I refused to look at myselfin mirrors.Mybodywastheworstkindofprison,utterly inescapable.Oneday,towardtheend,Campbellfound meinthestudy,holdingmybelly,talkingsoftly.Itwas the first time I really touched the baby.

“Look at you,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

Iquicklyletmyarmsfalltotheside.“Thisdoesn’t mean anything.” I shuffled out of the room as quickly as I could, leaving him stammering in mywake.

MelindaistheonlypersonIallowedinthedelivery room. Campbell was furious but I told him I wanted him in the delivery room when I gave birth to our child. I wanted to save that moment for him. My best friend held my hand and pressed cold cloths to my forehead. She didn’t fill the air with uselesschatter.

There are no words to describe how it feels to push a baby out of your body. Before the kidnapping, I would have thought it was the most inconceivable painawomancanexperiencebutIknewbetter.When you give birth, you willingly break yourself. You allow yourbodytocomeapart.EachtimeIpushed,even thoughIwassomiserableandexhausted,Iheldonto the promise of soon being free. I needed to rid myself of the terrible thing insideme.

The nurse who laid the slick, squealing child on my chest didn’t realize I had written in my birth plan thatIdidn’twanttolookuponhim.Iforcedmyselfto lookathim.Hisheadwascoveredwithastickymatte of dark hair. His arms were so skinny but his hands werewhatsplinteredthehardshellaroundme,sotiny, fingerssplayedashereachedformyface.Icuppedhis tiny head and kissed his forehead. He quieted, hislips quivering. I wanted to pull him into my rib cage and hold him inside my body once more. I was staggered by him, my beautiful boy.

“I need time with him,” I whispered, to noonein particular.Iprayedtheywouldgrantmethisonewish.

Everyone in the room exchanged looks, but after the baby was cleaned and swaddled, he was placed in myarmsoncemore.Hestaredatmewithwideeyes.I kissedhischeeks,softandthewarmestshadeofbrown with a hint of red. “I didn’t know,” I said, holding him as tightly as I dared. “I didn’t know I would love you.” I saw nothing of his father in the boy, not one single thing. It was amercy.

Melinda slipped out of the room. When the door openedagain,itwasCampbell,whorantomyside.He looked at the baby, his eyes watery and wide open.He covered my hand with his.

“I don’t think I can let him go,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’m sorry. I did not expect this. I didn’t know. I don’t know what to do.” I started to cry and thenIwassobbingfromsomewheredeep,sobbingfor the woman who had spent the past nine months ona sticky floor in a hot sugar warehouse with strange, violent men.

Campbell pushed the railing down and climbed into bed with me. His shoes fell loudly to the floor as he kicked them off. He wiped my tears as quickly as they fell. “You don’t have to let him go,” he said.

I brushed my fingers across the baby’s forehead. “I didn’t know.”

The baby yawned and closed his eyes. I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

It was dark outside when I awoke. I was alone in my hospital room. I remembered the soft, warm weight of the baby against my chest. The absencewas unbearable.Ipanicked,shotup,thenwinced.Ipressed thecallbuttonandafewminuteslater,atired-looking nurse padded into my room. “My baby,” I croaked. “Did they take him? Is it too late?”

The nurse smiled. “He’s in the nursery. His father is with him—wanted you to get some rest. They’ll be back soon. New mothers can sleep with their babies if they want.”

Thetightpaininmychestslowlybegantounravel. “I want,” Isaid.

I sat up and stared at the door, the waiting interminable. When he returned, Campbell was pushing a bassinet,thebabyswaddledinablueblanket,wearing a little blue hat, fast asleep.

“He was fussy,” Campbell said, “We went to the nursery to hang out.” He waved his wrist, showing off a hospital bracelet matching the baby’s and mine. “They gave me one of these. I got to feed him with a tiny bottle the size of two of my fingers.” My husband looked different, softer. His face couldn’t contain his smile. He was giddy.

I ignored him. “I thought I would never be able to love him right. I thought he would always be a reminder. I will never know who made him. I don’t want to.”

*

I was taken to a sugar warehouse and thrown into a room with no furniture, the floor sticky with sweet grime.Icouldn’tthink.Iwasterrified.Itwasunspeakablyhot.Icouldhardlybreathe.Hourslater,afatman with a shiny, bald, head appeared. He said the wife of arichAmericanwasworthalotofmoney.Hetoldme to undress. I didn’t know what to do. The man backhanded me. I looked into his eyes to try and make sense of the kind of man he was. I took too long. He backhandedmeagainanddrovehisfistintomystomach. My gut wrenched. I told him my husband would pay for me. He tore my clothes from my body and dragged me by my hair into a large room filled with a mountain of raw sugar that reached to the ceiling.He threwmedownandthesugarscratchedmybareskin. Heunbuckledhispants.Ibegged.Therewasnowhere to run, men everywhere.

He climbed on top of me, so heavy. I have never stopped feeling his wet skin against mine. Our bodies sank into that mountain of sugar. Grains of sugar floatedintheairashethrust.Intheshaftsofsunlight filling the warehouse, the sugarlooked beautiful so that’s what I looked at. I couldn’t close my eyes no matter how hard I tried. Grains of sugar fell on my tongue as I screamed. The sugar beneath me hardened with my blood. And then there was another man and another and another, each crueler. When it was over, I balled myself into a corner to wait. By the end, I was wild and vicious, scratching and clawing at anything that came near me. After, they drove me to my father’s house. Fabien sat in the back of the truck with me. He said, “If only you had given me a little kiss,” smiling like a spurned child. He tried to kiss me, fumbling at my body with his foolish hands. I snapped, screaming hoarsely as I clawed at his face, felt his skin come away. They had to stop the truck to pull us apart. As he got into the cab, he cursed me. I looked at my hands, red and raw, holding a piece of his skin. I slapped it against the cab window. He held his face as he turned around to stare at me. I never lookedaway.

WhenIfinishedspeaking,IturnedbacktoCampbell. “I did not want to look at my child and be forced torememberthat.Ididnotwanttolovehimlessthan he deserved. I did not want to hate him, which he did not deserve.”

Campbell knelt by the side of the bed. He took my hands, kissing them over and over. He didn’t say anything useless. He didn’t try to change what could not be changed.

*

Campbell flies out to meet me. I wait onthe sidewalk asatowncarpullsup.CampbellJr.,C.J.,boundsout ofthecarfirst,hisarmsthrusthighintheair.Istill don’t see the men who forced their way intomewhen Ilookatmyson.IhopeIneverwill.C.J.jumpsintomy armsandIclaspthebackofhishead.Thecurvedbone fits perfectly in my palm. I can breathe again.Icover hisfaceinkissesandhegiggles.Hesays,“Mommy, mommy, mommy.” Campbell tips the driver. Igrabhis shirt and pull him in. When he kisses me, Iamhome. “I never thought this day would come,”Campbell says.

C.J. claps his hands and sings a song I don’t recognize. He loves to sing. Sometimes, Campbell and I hearhimonthebabymonitor,singinginhisroom.We laugh and laugh and laugh.

“Do you want to give your great-grandmother a kiss?” I whisper into C.J.’s ear.

He nods politely, and leans in, leaving a loud, wet kiss on her cheek. He squirms out of my arms and runs away.

“Campbell,” I say, loudly. “He’s on his way to you.” I hold my breath until I hear Campbell growl and C.J. growls back—it’s this thing they do I don’t pretend to understand. I can still feel my son in the room. Some part of him is always with me.

My grandmother leans in to me, says my aunt is stealing her money. I listen carefully. I take her seriously.She’snotallowedtohavemoney.She’lluseitto bribe Maria to bring her cakes and other confections. She has always had a sweet tooth and Maria is corruptible. My grandmother’s tongue, like my son’s, is awfully fond of sugar.

Roxane Gay's writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Best American Mystery Stories 2014, Best American Short Stories 2012, Best Sex Writing 2012, A Public Space, McSweeney’s, Tin House, Oxford American, American Short Fiction, West Branch, Virginia Quarterly Review, NOON, The New York Times Book Review, Bookforum, Time, The Los Angeles Times, The Nation, The Rumpus, Salon, and many others. She is the author of the novel An Untamed State, which was a finalist for the Dayton Literary Peace Prize for Fiction; the essay collection Bad Feminist; Ayiti, a multi-genre collection; the memoir Hunger; and a comic book in Marvel’s Black Panther series.